


At least I didn't puke on you

by xxx_cat_xxx



Series: Whumping Peter Parker [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Parent Tony Stark, Poisoning, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Peter, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 14:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/pseuds/xxx_cat_xxx
Summary: “Uh, Mr Stark?” Peter says, voice strained. “I’m not feeling so great.”“Yeah, it takes some time for the painkillers to kick in.”“No, I mean, I feel kinda queasy.” Peter swallows convulsively. “Like I’m gonna puke.”Tony tenses, exchanging a worried look with Steve. “FRI, I thought you said it was only a mild concussion?”-or-Peter accidently takes Steve’s emergency pills that are designed to make him sick in case of poisoning.Cue Tony and Steve spending a night on the bathroom floor with a very pukey Peter Parker.





	At least I didn't puke on you

**Author's Note:**

> Have some fun and fluff! 
> 
> As always, a million thanks to my beta [Whumphoarder.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder)

“It won’t stop bleeding.” Tony crashes into the sofa, pressing a wad of tissues against his nose. 

“That’s what happens when you retract your helmet in the middle of a battle to mock a Hydra agent,” Steve comments, setting down his plate after finishing the last piece of pizza.

“She had it coming. Did you see that suit? I made better designs when I was _seven_!” Tony protests nasally. “And what’s the fun of a battle if you can’t have a little chit-chat with your enemy?” 

“Maybe it wasn’t the best move to call her _Hello Kitty_.”

“You did what?” Peter laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his slice of mushroom. 

“Yeah, yeah, go on, make fun of me…” Tony removes the tissue from his bloody nose and sniffles experimentally. “At least I didn’t get knocked into a wall. Speaking of which, you’ve been quiet, kid. You sure you’re okay?” He eyes the boy critically. 

“I’m good,” Peter assures, even as he visibly squints against the lights. “Just got a headache, no big deal.”

“Do you want another ice pack?” Steve asks, removing the one he’s been pressing against his sprained wrist and offering it to Peter. 

“No, I’m okay.” Peter prods at the bump on his head and grimaces in pain. “It should be fine in a few hours. Before the bite, I would’ve just taken some painkillers, but now they don’t work on me anymore...” 

“Maybe...” Steve exchanges a quick glance with Tony. “You know, Bruce and Tony developed those special painkillers to keep up with my metabolism? They don’t work a hundred percent, but they should definitely take the edge off.”

“Are you sure?” Peter looks at Tony. “It’s just a headache.” 

As the current world champion in understating pain, Tony knows exactly what “just a headache” means when coming from a member of his superhero family. Peter already looks dead tired from the battle and there is no reason for him to be in unnecessary pain. 

“That’s exactly what we made the pills for. Go ahead, kid. But only one, I don’t want to get in trouble with your aunt for drugging you up.”

“They’re in the medicine cabinet in the first floor bathroom,” Steve adds. 

Peter disappears in search of the pills while Tony and Steve have their usual argument about which movie to watch. They settle on _Aliens_ , partly because science fiction is the common denominator between the whole team, and partly because both of them know that it’s one of Peter’s favourites.

Tony waits until the kid has returned and curled up on the couch before he starts the movie. Since the mission has clearly taken its toll, he halfway expects all of them to fall asleep within half an hour. But the _Nostromo_ crew has just landed on the alien planet when Peter suddenly sits up straight, his face screwed up in discomfort. 

“Uh, Mr Stark?” he says, voice strained. “I’m not feeling so great.” 

“Yeah, it takes some time for the painkillers to kick in.”

“No, I mean, I feel kinda queasy.” Peter swallows convulsively. “Like I’m gonna puke.”

Tony tenses, exchanging a worried look with Steve. “FRI, I thought you said it was only a mild concussion?” He glances at Peter, who is now hunching over, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Sweat is beading on his brow.

“Yes, boss, my scans indicate no severe damage,” the AI replies.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter gulps, all colour draining from his face. 

“Shit. Come on.” Tony gets to his feet with a bit of difficulty and ushers Peter towards the bathroom.  

The boy drops to his knees in front of the toilet and leans over the bowl, spitting strings of saliva into the water. He burps wetly and gives an involuntary whimper. “I feel really sick.”

“I get it, kid. Just, do what you gotta do. You’ll feel better once it’s out.” Tony sincerely hopes that he’s right.

Peter doesn’t need to be told twice. He coughs drily, then gags. The first retch brings a bit of liquidy vomit, then he heaves hard, a gush of half-digested pizza pouring into the bowl. He coughs and chokes, barely able to draw a breath in before his whole body shudders and he vomits again.

“Easy, kid,” Tony soothes, awkwardly patting his back. He can feels the muscles under Peter’s shirt contracting when the boy brings up another wave. 

“Oh - god,” Peter pants, his fingers clenching the bowl hard. “This is -” He’s cut off by another retch that brings tears to his eyes. 

“Breathe, Pete, breathe,” Tony comforts, feeling his own stomach twist in sympathy. 

Peter coughs and spits out bile, then shakily reaches up to flush. He folds his arms on the edge of the seat and lets his head fall onto them, trembling. 

Tony wets a washcloth and nudges Peter to lift his face so that he can wipe the kid’s mouth. He fills a glass of water and offers it to him, but Peter shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. He is still ghostly pale, sweat running down his temples. 

“Okay, what the hell is happening? That looks like an awful lot like food poisoning, but we all ate the same dinner…” Tony tries for a light tone despite the worry gnawing in his gut. 

“I think I have an idea.” Tony turns around to see Steve in the doorway, a weird expression on his face. Peter groans, visibly embarrassed by the fact that Captain America is watching him puke.

“What’s it?” Tony demands.

“Peter, are these the pills you took?” Steve holds up a bottle. ‘Super pills to save America’s ass’ is scribbled on them in Tony’s handwriting. Peter glances up from where his head is resting on his elbows and nods weakly.  

“Oh shit,” Tony breathes, understanding sinking in. 

“What’s wrong with them?” Peter croaks. 

“These aren’t the painkillers. These pills are designed to make you sick. They’re -” Steve starts, but is interrupted by Peter suddenly pushing himself upright and retching again. The soldier cringes at the sound of liquid hitting the bowl.

“Why would anyone invent pills that make you _puke_?” Peter whines as soon as he surfaces again.

“We developed them in case Cap ever gets poisoned,” Tony explains. “There aren’t many things that can kill a supersoldier, but he’s not immune to toxins so we figured it would be a viable possibility that someone would try to take him out that way. So Bruce had this brilliant idea for a formula that would induce vomiting, and… Let’s just say he test trials were a lot of fun.”

“Don’t remind me,” Steve grumbles.  

“I can’t believe this,” Peter groans, dropping his head back onto his arms. 

“Hey, this is Cap’s fault,” Tony points out. “Rogers, you should have gone with him and showed him which pills to take.”

“ _You_ should have labeled the medicines correctly!” Steve retorts.

Peter interrupts their argument by belching up another mouthful of vomit.

“Geez, kid, I never would’ve thought this much food could fit in you,” Tony comments with a mixture of disgust and actual admiration.

“It’s not funny!” Peter complains. “I really don’t feel well.”

“I know, kid, I know,” Tony reassures, his expression softening. He picks up the washcloth and wipes it over Peter’s sweaty face. “I’m just glad that it’s nothing dangerous. The effects should wear off in a couple of hours. But till then I‘m afraid that you’re in for a rough time.” 

*

“There’s not even anything left in me. Why am I still nauseous?” Peter whines, coughing weakly into the bowl.

It’s been two hours and countless rounds of puking, and Tony feels wiped. Guilt creeps up on him at that thought because he knows that Peter must be feeling far, far worse. 

“I am so done,” the boy croaks hoarsely. He reaches for the handle to flush and misses. His hand slips off the tank and he lists dangerously to the side. Only Tony’s steadying hands keep him from hitting his head on the bathtub. 

“Hey, Pete, careful,” Tony says, alarmed. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

“A little, maybe,” Peter admits. “Head’s kind of floating. ’m really tired...”

“You’re not going to like this, but you’ll have to try some water sooner or later. You’re getting dehydrated.” Tony lets go of Peter’s shoulders, and the boy sags tiredly against him. 

“Hmm. In a bit,” he mumbles, his eyelids fluttering shut. 

He dozes off like this, his head pressed against the older man’s chest. After a while, Tony’s back starts to hurt. He tries to adjust his awkward position without waking the kid, carefully guiding his head to rest on Tony’s thighs instead. Peter shivers in his sleep and curls into himself, looking far too pale and far too young. 

Tony frowns as a sudden wave of protectiveness floods over him. He reaches up for a towel that he gently drapes over the kid, then leans his own head back against the bathtub, feeling like all energy has been sucked out of him. 

Twenty minutes later, he’s startled awake by a knock on the door. Steve sticks his head inside. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

“No, Spangles, we’re perfectly happy.” Tony grimaces when he tries to sit up straighter and his back protests in pain.

“Shouldn’t we move him to bed?” Steve motions at Peter’s sleeping form in Tony’s lap. “This doesn’t look very comfortable for either of you.” 

“Thanks, didn’t occur to me at all.” 

Fact is, Tony is just happy that Peter is finally getting some rest and he feels a bit wary of what will happen if they wake him up. On the other hand, he knows that neither his nor the kid’s body will be happy if they spend the whole night on the bathroom floor. He really should’ve considered situations like this when designing the compound. His brain immediately comes up with the preliminary outline of an inflatable couch that could be hidden beneath the bathroom floor tiles which he stores in his memory for later use. 

“Hey, kid.” He gently touches Peter’s shoulder. “Nighty-night time, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Peter rouses groggily, leaning heavily on Steve as he helps him stand up. Just as Tony feared, he looks about to hurl the moment he gets to his feet, so Tony makes a quick detour for a mixing bowl from the kitchen while Steve guides the kid to the elevator. 

The motion of the lift definitely doesn’t help with the nausea. As soon as they sit him down on the edge of his bed, Peter is throwing up again, gagging miserably into the bowl that Tony holds under his chin. He only brings up strings of bile. 

“Geez…” Tony rubs a hand through his hair. “That pill really works, doesn’t it?”

Peter is too out of it to reply with more than a weak glare. He falls onto the mattress like a doll that’s had its strings cut, not even reacting when Captain America himself tucks him in. Tony goes to rinse out the bowl, and when he returns, the Spider-kid is deeply asleep.

*

Peter wakes up a few hours later. There is a moment of confusion before he remembers what happened and how he got back to his own bedroom. His stomach muscles hurt, his mouth tastes like something died in it a long time ago, and he is still vaguely nauseous. 

He turns around to see Tony sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. Steve is sitting in an armchair next to his bed, an actual book in his hands (Peter is momentarily surprised that anything non-digital actually even exists in Tony’s compound), smiling at him.

“How are you feeling, Peter?” Steve asks.

“Better, I think,” Peter mumbles hoarsely. “Lightheaded. And, um, still kinda sick.”

“Okay. That’s to be expected.”

“How’s you wrist?”

“Good as new.” Steve moves the hand up and down in front of Peter’s face. “And definitely looking better than Tony is right now.” 

Peter props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at his mentor’s face. True to Steve’s word, it’s covered by an impressive array of rainbow-coloured bruises. Tony mumbles something in his sleep and turns his face away into the cushion, almost as if he’s aware he’s being talked about. 

“You should drink something.” Steve brings his attention back to Peter. “You think you’re up for it?”

“Maybe...Can I brush my teeth first?” Peter is sure if he swallows whatever taste is in his mouth, he will definitely be sick again. 

“Sure,” Steve agrees.

Peter sits up and swings his feet over the side of the bed, then waits for a bit until the grey fades from his vision before carefully making his way to the bathroom. He sits down on the edge of the bathtub while brushing, his legs feeling weak. 

“I’m sorry that you have to go through this, Peter,” Steve says, stepping inside. The bathroom is huge, but the supersoldier takes up so much space that it actually looks normal. 

Peter spits out his toothpaste. “It’s not your fault, Captain Rogers. I should have looked better before taking the medicine.” He hesitates for a second, but Steve seems ready for a chat. “Just one thing I was wondering - did you ever actually use this pill?”

“Oh god, don’t remind me.” Steve’s brow furrows. “I still feel sick if I think about that time.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Peter asks, always curious about old Avengers stories. He rinses his mouth and, god, the fresh taste is so good that he almost feels healthy again.

“If you drink some Gatorade, I will,” Steve baits, handing him a bottle. 

“Hmm. Okay,” Peter agrees, sounding unmotivated. 

He stares at the bottle for a moment, then opens it with a sigh. His stomach is still far from fine, and he feels like even a small sip of liquid might make it turn against him again. 

“Just a little bit,” Steve encourages. 

Peter takes a tiny sip and sits very, very still while he feels it moving down his throat and settling heavily into his stomach. He burps sickly, nervously eyeing the toilet. For a minute he is sure he’s going to be sick again, but then the nausea eases down a little.

“You’re holding up okay?” Steve asks.

“Hmm.” Peter nods, not keen on opening his mouth at the moment.

“Okay. Storytime.” Steve sits down on the closed toilet seat. “So, I wasn’t actually poisoned. But a couple of years ago, Bruce cut his thumb while cooking and a bit of his blood mixed with the curry he was preparing.You know that his blood is toxic, right?

Peter nods. He’s been told about this, but he’d never thought about the practical implications. 

“So, he went off to bandage his finger,” Steve goes on, “just as I happened to walk into the kitchen after going for a run.” He looks a bit sheepish. “It smelled really good and, well, you know how it is with an enhanced metabolism…”

(Peter is starting to wonder if his Parker Luck™ has somehow infected Steve as well.)

“Honestly, it was lucky that it was me. Anyone else would have probably died on spot...but getting the toxin out of my system wasn’t pretty.”

“That’s...bad,” Peter says, failing to hide a grin. He can vividly imagine the scene playing out in his mind’s eye. His nausea has decreased enough that he feels safe to talk again and he takes another few sips of Gatorade. “Was that the only time you used the pills?”

“Yeah, that was the only time. But then there were also the test trials...I threw up all over Tony’s pants.”

“Well, I got my revenge.” Tony is standing in the doorframe, looking tired and beat up, his hair standing up in all directions. One of his eyes is swollen almost shut. “Nothing like a severe concussion to ruin America’s star-spangled uniform.” He yawns. “How are you feeling, kid? Stopped reenacting _The Exorcist_?” 

“Ha ha. Very funny,” Peter says drily. “At least _I_ didn’t puke on anyone.”

“He’s had a few sips of Gatorade and it looks like it’s staying down,” Steve informs the engineer. 

“That’s good.” Tony rubs at his working eye with a groan, then looks at himself in the mirror and grimaces. “There goes Thursday’s _Vanity Fair_ photoshoot…”

Steve takes a deep, measured breath while Peter tries to keep himself from bursting into laughter. 

“Spiderling, you go back to sleep,” Tony orders, turning back to give Peter a once-over. “You look like you’re going to keel over any minute. Once you wake up, ask Dum-E for a proper breakfast.” He frowns. “Actually, scratch that. Ask Cap. Less chance he’ll set the kitchen on fire.”

“Please don’t talk about food..:” Peter’s stomach clenches at the thought. “Not before tomorrow morning.”

“Noted.” Tony grins. “Now out, all of you. I gotta pee.” 

“It’s my bathroom!” Peter protests.

“Yeah, and it’s my house,” Tony retorts. He watches with a warm smile as Steve puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guides the boy out of the room. "Good night, sleep tight, and don’t puke on the bedbugs.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a tumblr prompt and for the BTHB square "Poison". 
> 
> If you’re interested in a hilarious story about Tony and Bruce cooking up painkillers for Steve, keep an eye out for @whumphoarder‘s and @awesomesockes‘ upcoming fic.
> 
> Here's my [tumblr.](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/)


End file.
